My mother tried to compensate for what was lacking. However she never sat down to explain to me that the inconsistent and inconsiderate actions of others, not matter how much I loved them,were not my fault, and not under my control
My Superhero – A note of thanksgiving for all sons
I write this not just to honor my son and thank my Creator for entrusting me with this angel, but also for my brothers, my nephews, my male friends and even my father - to confirm for all men who may doubt, that they will always hold a most precious place in their mothers' heart, regardless of how their mother may or may not have expressed it.
So Deep – Original Poetry
Lord knows I crave you mind body and soul And you are not here to rock my body to sleep and hold me until my heart slows to a steady beat
Saxophone Solo – I was known for this poem on Columbia’s campus; still my favorite..
but you played me for only a three-count phrase and laid me down to free your hands for another and I am left to do a solo performance :with no assistance from you
Comfortable in my own skin – His point of view
Then finally I glanced down and saw she was wearing red pumps and her stocking free beautiful bare legs flashed in and out of the bottom of her coat. At that moment for me it was Christmas morning and my present had arrived.
Getting comfortable in my own skin – Part deux
There's such a rush of adrenalin, passion and life that flows through every ounce and every vein and the endorphins were all over the place! He was dying to unwrap the package and it made me more intent on teasing him and making him wait until he couldn't take it any more.
Finally Over – Original Poetry…one of my favorites
I loved until I stopped hurting and I found not only myself but someone to love me for real
Blood Tears – Original Poetry in memory of the freedom fighters
crying I sit here writing this poem thinking of the sacrifices that have brought me to tears
One Of The Most Important Days of My Life – for Mom
The day I announced to my soul that joy and sadness could co-exist and that I was no longer going to allow fear to take a permanent residence in my heart and head.
Profile of an Ex-Slave – Original Poetry
and I never knew the value of that red Georgian soil until I saw the gently wrinkled face of my great-great grandmother who shaped my future in the palm of her hands
Toni's Room 